


Three for Him Who Made Us All (WAdvent 2020 Day #24)

by gardnerhill



Series: The Lighthouse Keepers [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: Any good thing to make us all merry.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson
Series: The Lighthouse Keepers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1099173
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	Three for Him Who Made Us All (WAdvent 2020 Day #24)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the December 2020 Watson's Woes. The title is a line from the wassailing carol "A Souling."

Mary and I had just settled at our holiday table, the goose between us, when the doorbell pealed. She and I gave each other a look of dread. This was our first Christmas dinner as man and wife; we'd looked forward to this. However, I rarely had a quiet Christmas due to my profession; I feared that I would once again receive proof that neither illness nor crime respected December 25.

I drew a deep breath and smiled at my companion. "Perhaps it is only a delivery man, or carolers."

"And if not, I'll fix a goose sandwich for you to take with you," Mary said with a rueful smile.

Laughing, I arose from the table and went to the door (our servants had the day off). I made a small wager with myself. Would it be Holmes calling me away to a case? If it was medical in nature, what could this be – a carving accident requiring stitches, or dyspepsia?

Holmes. In the form of a small boy buried in a coat and lapped in a cravat too big for him, who handed me a sealed envelope that bore my friend's handwriting.

"Master George." I knew the names of all of the Irregulars. "Going messages for Mr. Holmes on Christmas Day?"

"He ast me special. He give me a half-crown an' everyfing."

It was cold out, very cold, even for the owner of a good coat and cravat. "It's not a customary day for working."

"Sbetter'n doin nuffin. 'N I got a half-crown."

My constant contact with a keenly observant man had made me more observant as well. I noted the thinness of the lad, his preference for being out and working on a day normally set aside for hearth and home. Holmes had paid George up front, and he'd gone ahead with the errand instead of simply pocketing the coin and vanishing. A poverty that extended to his home life but nevertheless a trustworthy young soul, and proud of having that trust.

"Mary," I called. "May I invite one of my colleagues to join us for dinner?"

My wife's voice was puzzled, but her response was immediate. "Of course, John. Please have him come in."

George's eyes brightened and he sniffed the air – poor child, the delicious smell of our goose in the warm house must have taunted him. But he was proud and would not be pitied.

I indicated the hat-rack, where pegs halfway down were provided for children's coats and hats. "You may leave your outer garments here, George. The washbasin's just at the kitchen door."

Mary's reaction to seeing the age of my "colleague" was comical, but she recovered in moments, eyes sizing the lad up as only a former governess could. "How fortuitous of you to join us! My husband and I couldn't possibly eat this whole goose by ourselves."

"George had a very important letter from Mr. Sherlock Holmes to give me." I held up the opened envelope; I'd read its contents while George had washed up. "Fortunately Mr. Holmes is in no great hurry, so we may take our time."

George nodded, but I saw his whole body sink into the dining chair, seeming to absorb the warmth from the nearby fireplace; Mary and I also kept our faces straight when the boy's stomach rumbled. We did not stand on ceremony, save for Mary saying a short grace over the table before I picked up the carving knife.

An hour later the goose was a denuded skeleton and there wasn't a speck of potatoes, gravy nor sprouts left in the serving dishes. Mary nodded and smiled, but I was astonished – I'd forgotten how much a growing boy could eat, when given an opportunity. George had also been permitted a sherry-glass of mulled wine to accompany the food, so either could have been the culprit when the boy fell fast asleep on the carpet before the fire when we invited him to share the warmth after the meal.

Mary watched George, eyes tender. "I'll send him off when he wakes up. When does Mr. Holmes need you to leave?"

Without a word I handed her the envelope.

My wife pulled out the note and began to read. In moments she'd closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her lips.

_My dear Watson:_

_The bearer of this missive, George Wills, is in need of a good meal and a moment's peace from both the outside cold and from his reprehensible relations. As he would refuse my offer of same as charity, I have hired him to carry a note just at dinner-time to a certain lighthouse, where I know the messenger will be well-fed by its keepers. I know my Watsons. Felicitations of the day to you and to your good wife. – SH_


End file.
